Beyond the Brooklyn Bridge
by downtonabbey15
Summary: In the midst of a raging turf war, influenza hits New York, and the Manhattan newsies call in backup. But sometimes, things don't always end up as planned...
1. Prologue

Chapter 1:

Prologue

AN: Hey, everybody! I'm downtonabbey15, and this is my first fanfic on the site! I hope you guys like it! I'm a huge "Newsies" fan, so I thought I'd give this a shot! Please review!

-downtonabbey15

* * *

Winter was always a rough time for the newsies. While families sat cozily in their houses, laughing by the fire, the poor boys of New York trudged through snow, ice, and the cold winds, desperately trying to earn a living. And of course, there was the ever present threat of sickness.

Influenza and the boys met up every year, though they did not have a good relationship. Every winter, a few newsies, mainly the younger ones, would catch the flu. It would take a powerful grip on them, and because of that, the whole group struggled, having to spare older newsies as doctors to the ailing. That meant that there were less papers being sold, and that meant there was less money. And where there was less money, there was less food.

The strains of influenza had not been terribly bad the last few years, but that only meant that something worse was to come.

* * *

17 year old Jack Kelly sighed as he tugged his thin jacket around himself. He was hurriedly walking home to the lodging house, eager to get out of the cold weather. The papers had called for more snow tonight, and Jack cursed himself for not taking them seriously. He had instead gone to dinner at David's, paying no attention to the gathering storm outside the window. But when he stepped out onto the fire escape, he was slammed in the face by a rush of snow and wind. Politely declining Mrs. Jacobs' many offers to stay the night, Jack reluctantly set out for the old wooden building.

When he finally reached it, (silently thanking God that Kloppman hadn't locked it; he would've hated having to crawl through the upstairs window, as the last time he tried, he plummeted two stories and nearly killed himself,) he thrust the door open, stepped inside, and closed it behind him, expecting to be welcomed by the chorus of boys yelling his name, the curses as someone lost a poker game, and the strong smell of cigarettes. Instead, the foyer was dark and quiet.

Jack took a step forward, glancing in the small living area to the right of the stairs. The room was empty, save for Racetrack, who was sitting on the torn up old armchair that rested by the unlit fireplace, absent mindedly letting his poker cards flutter between his hands. A single oil lamp was lit on the end table beside him.

"Hey, Jack," Racetrack said quietly, not moving from his slouched position.

"Race," Jack acknowledged. "Where're da others?"

"Went to bed," the 16 year old informed him. He rose, ceasing the card shuffling and hiding the deck safely in his inside vest pocket. He strode over to Jack, hands in his pockets. "Kloppman too."

Jack headed into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and Racetrack followed.

"How's Skittery?" Jack asked, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the sink.

Two days prior, Skittery had been the one to start the avalanche, coming back from Tibby's with a full-fledged fever. He hadn't been horribly sick, but it was enough to make Jack more than uneasy.

Race shrugged. "No worse. No better, either."

Jack took a swig of his water.

"Buttons and Drawers are sick, too," Racetrack added quietly.

Jack turned to him. "What? They...they was fine this mornin'."

"Well, they'se laid up, now. And Boots didn't look too hot either."

Jack stayed silent.

"You know, Jack," Race said, striking a match on the countertop and lighting the cigar that was now clenched between his teeth. "I don't want to worry youse, but...I'se getting a little nervous. I mean, I ain't ever seen da little ones come down with it dis fast, and us older kids...we _never_ get sick."

Jack shrugged. "Crutchie gets sick, and he's da same age as you."

Racetrack shrugged. "Yeah, but Crutchie don't exactly have an iron immune system, either."

For a moment, both boys were silent.

"So, what'd we do?" Race asked quietly.

Jack shrugged. "What're we supposed to do Race? We ain't got no money for doctors. And even if we did, no doc'd come up here." Seeing his friend's expression, he sighed.

Setting down his water glass, Jack made his way towards the staircase that led to the bunkroom. "We do what we'se always do. We wait it out." With that, Jack ascended the rest of the stairs and disappeared onto the second floor.

Racetrack removed his cigar from his mouth and sighed. He _really_ didn't have a good feeling about this.

* * *

AN: So, I know that was a slow start, but it'll get better! Spot Conlon (my favorite character!) is gonna come in soon, and we're gonna be seeing some turf war fights in the near future! Eek! So, please review! I want to know your feedback! :)

-downtonabbey15


	2. The March to Brooklyn

Chapter 2:

The March to Brooklyn

AN: Whoo! Chapter 2! Yay! And a shout out to everyone who reviewed! Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! :)

-downtonabbey15

* * *

Jack didn't have to be awakened by Kloppman the next morning. In fact, the elderly gentleman himself wasn't even conscious yet. The whole bunk house was roused by the shattering of glass, and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Jack shot up in his bunk and jumped to the ground, a few of the older newsies doing the same.

Peering through the dim light, Jack quickly dismissed the thought of a thief, realizing that no one in their right mind would shatter a window, and then proceed to climb through it. However, Jack realized that the object laying near Kid Blink's bunk was a rock, with a paper stuck to it.

Jack nodded to Blink, who promptly tossed it to him.

Ripping the paper off the stone, Jack straightened it out in his hands.

 _Kelly,_

 _Meet me tomorrow at the bridge with Conlon. Noon sharp. And if you'se value your lives, you'd better not bring anyone with ya._

 _-Snake_

Jack felt his stomach clench. Snake was the leader of the Queens newsies, and was viewed as one of the toughest newsies in New York. He had a reputation of being fast, dirty, and dangerous. If you got on his bad side, you were pretty much a goner.

This was definitely not what the 17-year-old Manhattan newsie needed right now.

Realizing that his fellow paperboys were giving him concerned and puzzled stares, Jack quickly crumpled up the paper and threw it aside.

"Whoever can sell, go get ready. Race, get dressed and come with me. We'se goin' on a walk."

* * *

After quickly filling Racetrack and Davey in on the situation at the distribution center, the group began a long and tension-filled walk across the Brooklyn bridge. While the bridge was long, it wasn't a horribly exhausting trek, and they were so anxious that they reached Brooklyn in record time.

Jack was more than a little surprised to see that nearly all of Spot's newsies were selling. Throughout the last few days, Jack had read in the headlines that influenza had hit both Manhattan and Brooklyn hard. _Oh, well,_ Jack thought with a slight chuckle. _Spot probably doesn't allow his newsies to get sick._

After a few minutes of walking, the three boys reached the Brooklyn lodging house. However, in front of the door stood a newsie that Jack recognized, but didn't quite recall the name of.

The newsie was a few inches taller than Jack, and his shaggy brown hair nearly hid his eyes, but he nodded as the Manhattan leader ascended the steps. "Hey, Cowboy," he said.

Jack nodded to him. "Conlon inside?"

"Yeah. But he ain't in the best mood."

Ignoring the boy's protests, Jack pushed his way inside. Before the group was even through the door, they could hear Spot's yelling. _Oh, great,_ Jack thought.

The group stopped in the doorway of the lodge house's living room, and Jack gave a slight knock on the wood.

Spot was standing against the far window of the living room, wringing his cap in his hands. A newsie named Grip stood by an old chair.

Spot whipped around at the sound of Jack's knock.

"Hey!" he said, pointing a finger at Jack. He took two long strides across the room and shoved a crumpled piece of paper in Jack's face. "You get one a these?"

Jack leaned back and glanced at the paper, which was an almost identical copy of his. "Yeah. What're we's gonna do about it?"

"What're we supposed to do?!" Spot exclaimed. "We show up there alone, he'll have a gang ready to finish us, and we's show up there with people, and it'll just be a war!"

Race removed the cigar from his mouth. "Maybe you'se could...show up, but have some of us hidin', ya know? So he don't see us."

"Race, he's gonna see you'se no matter what!" Spot retorted.

"I say we go with Race's plan," Jack interjected. "That way, if somethin' happens, at least we's got backup."

Spot looked hesitant to agree, but he eventually nodded. "Fine. But if someone gets killed, don't go blamin' me."

Jack scoffed, trying to loosen the tension. "Okay, Spot," he said. He gave a slight wave to Grip, and the group exited the building.

As they traveled down the steps, Davey began. "Are you guys sure you should even be going at all?" he asked. "I mean, if he's as scary as you make him sound-"

Jack stopped. "Dave, we don't got a choice. We don't show up, he's gonna find us, and it ain't no mystery where we live."

"But...can't you tell someone? What about the cops?"

"And what're the cops gonna do?" Racetrack snorted, clenching the cigar between his teeth. "You saw how hard it was to get 'em to listen to da strike. What're they gonna care about some rough kids who wanna hold a meetin'?"

Davey didn't reply. The group walked back to Manhattan in silence. Jack tried to ease the worry in his mind. _Snake wouldn't even think about doing something in broad daylight,_ he thought.

Would he?

* * *

AN: So, that chapter was pretty bad, but you guys had given me such nice reviews, I had to give back. The next chapter will be the confrontation, and that WILL get ugly...anyway, please review!

-downtonabbey15


	3. An Ugly Meeting

Chapter 3:

An Ugly Meeting

AN: So, here's chapter 3! So sorry for the long wait! I've had really bad writers block lately, and I've been super busy. Anyway, here it is! I hope you like it!

-downtonabbey15

* * *

Despite the sun being high in the sky, the air was cold the next day as Jack and Spot made their way towards the bridge. Both leaders had awoken early, and Spot had made a fast jog to Manhattan, so the two could conference. It was decided that Racetrack, Kid Blink, and Mush would secretly accompany them, and Spot promised that he had a few of his own guys, though he wouldn't specify where they were.

As demanded, they waited close to the middle, not out of sight, but enough that they weren't that noticeable. Suddenly, Snake stepped out of the crowd.

He chuckled. "Well well well...I didn't think youse was comin'."

"Whad'ya want, Snake," Jack demanded, folding his arms across his chest. "And don't start playin' no games."

The 19-year-old scoffed. "You know, Jack, I don't really like the tone you're takin' with me." He fished in his pocket and produced a switchblade knife, its blade glistening in the sunlight. "Follow me."

"Yeah, right, Snake," Spot countered. "We ain't stupid."

Snake took a step towards Spot and pointed the knife to his throat. "Do it, Conlon. I'se got guys all over here. Make one wrong move, and Broolyn'll be lookin' for a new leader."

Jack sent Spot a look, mentally pleading him to obey. The 16 year old reluctantly conceded.

Snake turned to Jack. "Tell your guys to fall back."

"What?"

"You heard me. They ain't comin'."

Jack turned around to where he could see Racetrack, Blink, and Mush, still trying to remain hidden. "Beat it, guys," he called. He turned back to Snake.

"Good. Come on."

Snake led the two across the rest of the bridge into Brooklyn, then on a seemingly endless walk through alleyways and streets. He eventually stopped in the opening of an alley with a dead end.

He again faced them with the knife. "Now, I'm gonna tell you'se what I want, and you're gonna give it to me. Clear?"

"Or what?" Jack asked, crossing his arms over his chest out of both defiance and defense.

"Or I'll kill ya, got it?"

Spot scoffed. "As if."

"You don't believe me, Conlon?" Snake moved in closer, holding the knife barely and inch from Spot's throat. "I don't care if I kill you, Spot. I don't believe in anything, so what harm's it gonna do me? But you...you'se is Catholic, ain't ya? You won't dare hurt me."

"Won't I?"

Suddenly, Snake grabbed Spot around the shoulders and slammed him up against the brick wall of the building, pressing the knife's blade to his throat. He whistled, and Jack was spontaneously surrounded by Snake's goons, all wielding switchblades.

Snake scoffed. "Now, you'se is gonna give me Brooklyn," he turned to Jack, "and you'se is gonna give me 'Hattan. Got it?"

Jack took a step towards the back of the alley, trying to free himself from the boys surrounding him. "Why ya want them, Snake? Da Bronx is plenty big enough!"

"Me boys need more sellin' space!" Snake sneered. "The more space they's got, the more money they make. And the more money I make."

"Snake, we'se all bad off. We can work something out," Jack said, trying to negotiate. He was a good fighter, but one to three with the latter holding weapons was not a good chance to come out unscathed.

"Like I'd bargain with you'se," Snake said. He pressed the knife harder into Spot's neck. The 16-year-old tried desperately not cry out in pain as the metal sliced slightly into his skin. "One more chance. Get your boys out, and give the routes to me."

"Like hell," Spot said, gritting his teeth.

Snake smirked. "Fine."

The boys began to advance on Jack, when suddenly a _click_ sounded, and a voice called out, "Any of ya make one more move, and I'll shoot."

Snake turned.

About 10 feet away stood a boy of about 13 that Snake knew all too well. He stood with a determined stance, for in his hands was a cocked revolver pointed directly at the leader's head.

"Rags, get outta here," Snake ordered.

Rags didn't move. His brown hair tousled in the wind. "I mean it, Snake," he insisted. "I ain't afraid to shoot ya."

The gang surrounding Jack began to hold their hands out in defense. "Look, Rags," one said shakily. "We don't want no trouble."

"Yeah," said another. "We was only jokin'."

Snake turned on them. "What?! What's wrong with you'se? Get 'em!"

As Snake turned to face him, Rags shot.

The bullet was dead on. As sharp as one of Spot's slingshot shots. The compact tube of copper and cordite whizzed through the air at an impressive speed, striking its target with a deadly accuracy. The bullet lodged itself in Snake's right shoulder, striking the bone and making a good sized chip in it. Lightning flashed before Snake's eyes as pain shot down his arm, up his neck, and through his entire body. He screamed. A bloodcurdling scream that was so loud Jack was thoroughly surprised the bulls didn't come running down the street. But Snake clutched his arm as if his life depended on it, clenching his teeth as blood gushed from the bullet hole and onto his tan shirt. It ran down the side, marking the fabric with a permanent red streak.

"Aah! Damn you, Rags!"

Rags dropped the bullet shell and cocked the gun again, aiming at the rest of the group. "I got five left, fellas. Which one of you'se wants a double shot?"

The group quickly rushed Snake from the scene, but not before he could call out one last threat.

"I'll get Sunny, Spot," he said as disgustingly as he could through his pain. "You'll go down with her, and 'Hattan can't stand without Brooklyn." With that, he stumbled away, his cries of pain ignored by passerby.

Jack and Spot watched them go.

Jack whistled. "Well, we'se in for it now." He turned to Rags and approached him, a smile on his face. "Hey, Rags, long time no see, eh?"

"Heya, Jack," the boy chuckled, slipping the revolver back into his pocket.

"Where'd you get a gun?" Spot questioned.

"It ain't mine. Sunny found it on the street. I'm the one who stole the bullets."

"Where is she?"

"She's fine, she's still in Harlem."

Jack rubbed a hand across his face, still trying to get his heart back to its normal speed. "How'd you know we'd be here?" he asked.

Rags shrugged. "Sunny heard it. Sent me. Told me only to shoot if I have to."

Jack chuckled. "That's Sunny."

Rags turned to Spot. "She also told me to slap ya for bein' stupid, but I'se not gonna do that."

Spot laughed lightly. "Thanks."

"I'se gotta go," Rags said. "She's gonna get nervous."

"See ya, Rags," Jack said.

Spot nodded a goodbye.

As the younger boy dashed off, Jack and Spot began to head in the opposite direction.

"What're we'se gonna do about Snake?" Spot asked the taller boy suddenly.

"Whad'ya mean?"

"You heard what he said, Jack. He's gonna go after Sunny."

"Spot, Sunny can handle herself. And besides, Rags can warn her, and Snake's gonna be down for at least two weeks, so she's got time to do something."

"Ya think Snake's got guns?"

Jack scoffed. "I _know_ he's got guns. But his guys won't do anything without him. And Sunny's guys know what they're doin'."

"Are a bunch of little kids gonna be able to fire guns at big guys who're firin' back?"

By now they had reached the bridge, and they started their long trek across it.

"Hey, if it makes you feel any better, why don't the two of us head down there tomorrow? We'll talk with her, see what she thinks. Okay?"

"Fine."

Nearly twenty minutes later, after crossing the bridge, they had finally reached the Manhattan lodging house. They hurried up the steps and into the semi-warm building as a fresh layer of snow began to fall.

They were met with a group of long faced newsies sitting around the steps or in the living room. There were no games, no laughs. In fact, it looked as if some of them had been crying, and that made Jack's heart skip a beat.

"What's wrong?" he asked, taking in their expressions.

Blink stood from his spot leaning against the railing. He was red eyed. "How'd it go?"

Jack swallowed. "Not so good. What happened here?"

"Uh...Drawers, he..." Blink began to get teared up. "His...his fever...it spiked, Jack. And we couldn't get it down."

Jack looked horrified, and Spot looked equally as stunned. _They don't mean..._

Racetrack took a shuddering breath. "Drawers's dead, Jack."

* * *

AN: So, what did you think? Please review! I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I've been trying to focus on my "Downton Abbey" story as well as this one. Please review! :)

-downtonabbey15 :)


	4. Tragedy Strikes

Chapter 4:

Tragedy Strikes

AN: Thank you guys so much for the reviews! They were awesome! Here's a semi-long chapter! Hope you enjoy it! And please review! :)

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

Jack couldn't breathe. It was as if his lungs had frozen solid. Drawers was... _dead?_ He couldn't be. Drawers was only _nine. Nine years old._ Jack had taken him in almost a year ago, after he had found him aimlessly wandering the streets. His family had died, and he had escaped the orphanage. But now, all the help Jack gave him was gone. Drawers was gone. Suddenly, the influenza wasn't routine anymore. Now it was frightening.

Jack unfroze. "How are da others?"

"Not to good," Race admitted. "Buttons's outta it. His fever's high. Boots's down, too."

Jack shook his head. This could not be happening. For nearly five years, he had run the newsies with a confidence that nothing could go wrong when he was in charge. That he was in control. They had won the strike, hadn't they? But this was proving he _wasn't_ in control.

He turned to the group. "Go to bed. Get the sick ones in one part of da room, and keep them there." The newsies instantly obeyed.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jack turned to Spot. "Your cousin. She's good with this kinda stuff, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Bring her here."

"What?"

"You wanna keep her safe, I want my newsies well. Let's go there tomorrow and ask her."

Spot contemplated that for a moment. Then nodded. "Fine."

"We'se leavin' at dawn."

"Dawn," Spot agreed.

* * *

Spot had never particularly liked Harlem. Perhaps it was the eerie quiet of the streets, or the number of communities that long since been abandoned. Spot would never know. The fairly sizable city was located in the northern part of Manhattan, close enough to Jack, but secluded enough that it needed its own leader. As Jack and Spot marched purposefully through the snowy streets, (hadn't anyone bothered to shovel the sidewalks?) they took in the lack of passerby, and recognized the stench of sickness in the air. Clearly, the influenza had affected Harlem too.

Jack knew the way, but not as by heart as Spot, and the blond boy led them towards the center of the city, where the _New York Journal,_ run by William Randolph Hearst, was located.

Nearing the partially open gates, they stopped. Seated on the sidewalk, and on various crates inside the gates, were the Harlem newsies. Jack would never understand how Sunny managed to run them. No one in the group could be older than nine, and there had occasionally been infants dropped at the lodging house door (who of course, were given to a proper orphanage). Harlem had a much lower crime rate than Manhattan or Brooklyn, and it was almost an unspoken rule between the boroughs that if they had young children on their hands, they would take them to Harlem. It was almost like an orphanage. The boys were a wild bunch, and thinking of how he struggled to keep his older boys in line, Jack had no idea how the teenager did it.

Spot stepped up to the gate and rested his hand on the bars. "Hey, Rags!" He called to the boy.

Rags glanced up from where he was sitting atop a large pile of crates. Nimbly jumping down, he sauntered over to the gate. "'Sup Conlon."

"Hey, where's me cousin?"

Rags motioned towards the left. "At da lodgin' house."

"Thanks."

The lodging house was a few mere blocks away from the newspaper office, and Spot and Jack made it there with ease. Not bothering to knock, Spot opened the wooden door and stepped inside.

The building wasn't very different from the other lodging houses, save for a few minor details. It was cleaner, which Jack envied. But then again, he sure as heck didn't be the one to clean up after his boys. A staircase was to the left of the doorway, and a kitchen was beyond it. To the right was the living room, where an abandoned deck of cards lay scattered across the floor. _Good thing Race isn't here,_ Jack thought with a chuckle. _He'd steal 'em._

"Hey, Sunny!" Spot hollered into the house. A pair of footsteps thumped on the stairs.

Sunny soon came into view. She was Spot's 15-year-old cousin, and shared his stubborn personality. Her dark brown braids were tucked up in her cap, but when she saw who it was, she quickly removed it to make it obvious she was a girl.

"Hey!" she said with a smile, jogging down the rest of the stairs. "What're you'se doin' here?"

Spot didn't return the greeting. "You heard anything from Snake?"

Sunny's expression turned serious. "Nah. You?"

Spot shook his head.

"Just get to da point," Jack urged.

Spot exhaled deeply. "We need your help."

"Me boys are sick," Jack explained.

Sunny nodded. "Some of mine, too. How bad?"

Jack avoided her gaze. "One's dead."

Sunny took a shuddering breath. "Oh, God, Jack..."

After a moment of stunned silence, Spot continued. "Look, I'se don't feel comfortable leavin' you out here. Not when Snake's made threats against you. And you're good with this kinda stuff. Sickness, I mean. We want you ta come back ta 'Hattan."

Sunny looked uneasy. "I don't know-"

"You can leave Rags behind," Jack suggested. "He can stay with a few of the younger ones, and you can bring some of the older ones to come and sells with mine. We can split the profits, fair and square."

Sunny looked as if she was going to protest, but Spot gave her a pleading look. "Fine. When do ya wanna leave?"

* * *

Before continuing, I feel I should elaborate on Sunny's background, and how she came to run the Harlem newsies.

Spot and his family lived in a generously sized house just outside of Prospect Park, in Brooklyn. Next door, was Sunny's family. Sunny's mother, Rebecca, and Spot's father, Shane, were siblings. They had grown up in a fairly nice home, with just enough money to enjoy life more than most. Shane had married Spot's mother, Megan, and Rebecca had married Sunny's father, Andrew. Both families were close, and they lived near each other both for pleasure, and to assist each other as needed.

Sunny had known long before she should have that Shane was not quite like her father. Or most fathers, for that matter. Spot confided in her that Shane could be rather violent at times, and said words and called Spot names that he could barely repeat to her. He didn't tell her everything, of course, as she was too young to understand. But he had become rather skilled at conjuring up a lie about the origin of the bruises and marks that seemed to never leave.

It was when Sunny was about six years old that things took a turn. Andrew O'Connell was a good, hard-working man, but it seemed that though he was an eager worker, there was never any work. The factory he had devoted his life to closed down, and the odd job here and there didn't nearly cover the expenses the family had going. Megan tried to help, and even Shane was sympathetic, but they could only spare so much, and it pained Andrew to be a charity case. The fact that he could not provide for his family pained him more than the lack of money, and the even greater lack of food.

He eventually found a somewhat steady job in a sweatshop factory. Definitely not his chosen trade, but it paid the bills to some degree, so he took it. He worked unbelievably long hours, and Rebecca repeatedly expressed her concern for his health. He did not listen.

He really should have just quit when the boss had said scarlet fever was going around the workers. But Andrew was Irish, so of course, he didn't listen. Until he came home one night with a fever.

All Sunny knew of the situation was the her mother and aunt repeatedly met on the porch. They spoke in hushed tones, and when Sunny asked what they were discussing, her mother shushed her. She was not allowed into her father's room, she was not allowed outside. All she knew was that her father was very sick, and her mother was equally as worried.

Which was why when she began to feel ill, she said nothing.

She was able to ignore it at first. Ignore the stinging sensation in her throat, or the fatigue that the fever brought on. But when Spot finally couldn't stand it and came to see her, (courtesy of the icy fire escape and her unlocked window,) he discovered her in bed, burning up with fever with Rebecca at her side. He fetched his mother.

Soon after her daughter, Rebecca took ill. It wasn't long before the whole ordeal was over. Spot and Megan stayed at the house, trying desperately to help the family. But it was useless. Rebecca and Andrew died within hours of each other. Sunny was too delirious to know. She remained in her semi-conscious state for three more days after that, and when her fever finally broke, the doctor was concerned she still wouldn't make it, just because she was so weak.

When she could finally stand, it was decided that the Conlons would take her in. It was then that Sunny learnt the true nature of her uncle.

* * *

AN: So, what did you think? And I know that last sentence sounded wrong, but there **WILL NOT** be any kind of sexual abuse in this story. But I hope you liked the chapter! Please review! You guys are so awesome! :)

-downtonabbey15 :)


	5. Arrival in Manhattan

Chapter 5:

Arrival in Manhattan

AN: Hey, guys! OMG, I am SO sorry for the extremely long wait! I had the worst case of writers' block for this story, and things were pretty hectic. But school's almost out now, so hopefully I'll have a lot more time to write! Enjoy the chapter!

-downtonabbey15 :)

* * *

Like Spot, Sunny had a private room in the lodging house, although she did it because of her gender, not because of her rank. With Rags's help, she dragged two spare beds in from the attic, and made them somewhat presentable for Spot and Jack. The three had a restful night's sleep, and in the early morning, Sunny's older newsies packed their bags, and the group began the long hike back to Manhattan.

Just for them, the weather decided to take a turn for the worst, and a heavy snow began to fall. By late that afternoon, when they had finally reached the lodging house, they were soaked through, irritable, and definitely not in the mood to be crossed. Pushing through the door, they were greeted by the thudding of footsteps on the stairs, and the sight of Jack's newsies looking thoroughly relieved.

"Geez, we thought you'se was gonners!" Blink exclaimed with a chuckle as Jack and Spot removed their coats.

"Nah, we just got lost," Jack explained, hanging his thin jacket on the hook by the door.

"How da hell do ya get lost?" Race joked. "We walk these streets everyday!"

Jack playfully swung at him. "Alright, Race, you try and do it while ya almost blind. See how ya like it." He turned and pulled Sunny forward. "Fellas, this here's Sunny. She's Spot's cousin. She's from Harlem." He gave the back of Sunny's cap a slight tap so it fell forward and off her head, showing her long hair.

Racetrack couldn't have looked more shocked if Joseph Pulitzer himself had walked into the room. "You'se a girl?!" he squeaked out. He immediately turned to Jack and pointed at Sunny. "Girls can't be newsies!"

Sunny gave him a glare. "Says who?"

Racetrack turned to face her with his hands on his hips. "Says nature!"

The group of boys laughed, and Sunny did not appreciate the mocking remark. "You goin' for a fight?"

Racetrack removed his cap and bowed with a smirk. "Aw, no, ma'am. I ain't ever hit a girl, and I sure as hell ain't about to start now."

Sunny wrung her cap in her hands. "So I have free reign to throttle you?"

Spot caught a hold of his cousin's wrist just before she lunged. Race dove back into the crowd of newsies with a yelp.

"Alright, alright, settle down," he said, pulling her back towards him.

Racetrack quickly recovered, straightening his vest. He slipped a cigar into his mouth. "Yeah, she's real gentle, Jack," he said, clenching it between his teeth as he struck a lit match and held it close until it lit. "She'll be real good with da sick ones."

Sunny gave him a look. "Well den youse lucky you ain't in their place, huh..."

Racetrack leaned against the stair railing and raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, break it up," Jack said. "Everybody to bed, it's late."

The boys grumbled, but complied. Spot led Sunny and her boys up the stairs. Once they were out of sight, Jack turned to Race with a knowing look on his face.

"What?" Race grumbled.

"Don't be hittin' on her, Race," Jack said, crossing his arms and sitting on the second step.

Race nearly choked on his cigar. "What?! You think I was hittin' on her?!"

"I saw youse, Race, and I know youse...I saw da looks you was givin' her."

Race sat down across from him. "Jack..." He scoffed when he saw Jack's look. "Okay, I will admit that she is... _slightly_ good looking, but that don't mean I like her! You think I'd sweet talk _any_ girl who was related to Spot Conlon with him standin' right _there_?!"

"I'm just sayin', Race...Even if he ain't right there, don't say anything...Her folks died when she was young, and he don't let anyone near her. You make a move, and he'll hurt ya, ya got it? Don't matter dat you're his friend."

Racetrack threw his hands up in defense. "You see me makin' a move? I get it, alright? I'll stay clear. Won't even talk to her." He took a long drag on his cigar. "I'm gonna turn in. You?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there in a sec."

Race heaved himself up from the step, and as he did, let out a barking cough.

Jack immediately looked up in alarm. "You alright?"

Racetrack patted his chest. "'m good. Just choked on da smoke, that's all."

Jack didn't buy it. "Smoke never bothered you before."

Racetrack scoffed. "You callin' me a liar?" he accused jokingly. Seeing his friend's worry, he softened. "I'm fine, Jack, alright? See ya up there." He ascended the stairs, leaving Jack alone in silence.

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AN: So, I know that chapter was super short, but I promise the next one will be longer! Please review!

-downtonabbey15 :)


	6. An Unwelcome Guest

Chapter 6

An Unwelcome Guest

 **OH MY GOODNESS.**

 **Hey, peeps! Guess what, yes I'm back! (Not sure if you guys were even anxiously awaiting my return, but oh well.) For those of you who are curious, no, I have not fallen off the earth. I've been super busy with school work and such, and I've had such bad writer's block for the longest time.**

 **But, suddenly, I'm getting like, all these chapters written, so WHOOOHOOO! I don't know what's happening, but I won't question it, lol.**

 **Anyway, sorry for the super long wait. I know how much it stinks when it seems like the author's abandoned a story. But rest assured, I never abandon stories. So even if I haven't updated in months, you can rest in the fact that there will, at some point, be another chapter.**

 **Anywayyyyyy...without further ado, I give you, THE NEXT CHAPTER!**

 **I hope you guys like it! Please review!**

 **-downntonabbey15**

* * *

 _Fire._

 _He was on fire._

 _He had to be._

 _Everything was burning. The flames were engulfing his body, inch by inch, making every single pore sizzle and feel as though they were being stabbed by a thousand pins. Each drop of sweat that formed at his brow was almost immediately sucked back into his body by the heat._

"Hey."

 _God, he burned! It burned so bad!_

"Hey, Race."

 _He tried to think which of the newsies had set him on fire...definitely not Jack..._

"Hey!"

 _He had never really been mean to Crutchy, although he had jabbed him once or twice about his limp. But all the guys did that!_

"Racetrack, wake up!"

 _Although...hit a match against that crutch, and it's goodbye sunrise..._

"Hey, come on, kid. You gotta wake up."

 _Boots? The kid was kinda clumsy sometimes..._

 _Slap!_

Racetrack was jolted awake as a cold, wet liquid was dumped over his face. For a moment, he was senseless as the room swam and his vision blurred. After a few seconds, the fog in his head slowly cleared, and he was able to realize where he was. Sunny was standing next to his bed, an empty tin cup which he presumed had previously held water was poised in her hands. It took only a moment for Racetrack to piece it together.

"What the hell was that for?!" he exclaimed, surprised at the hoarse tone of his voice.

"You was out of it," Sunny answered.

"So you try to drown me?!"

"You're breathin' now, aren't ya?"

Racetrack weakly swiped a hand across his face to brush off the water, while giving her a glare. His eyes caught the window, where the sun was already shining brightly through. "What time is it?"

"Uh...pro'ly close to 11:30, why?"

"Why da hell didn't someone wake me?"

Sunny scoffed. "Pro'ly cause you'se sick as a dog...and I don't think Jack wanted to have ta drag you back here."

"I gotta sell. Kloppman'll kick me out if I don't make rent."

"Why do you think my boys is here?" Sunny asked. "Kloppman's lettin' us stay here for free. We're makin' money for you guys."

Race turned a little less harsh at that. "You don't gotta do that."

"Ain't me who's doin' it." Sunny took a long look at the other scattered forms on top of bunks and under blankets. Racetrack counted at least seven. "If I had my way I'd be out there 'stead a in here." She gestured to two buckets sitting on either side of his bed. "Anyway, right bowl's for puke, left bucket for pee-"

"You want me to pee in fronta you?"

"No, _stupid_ , I wasn't done. I put 'em there in case you'se need 'em. Imma be downstairs. Just 'cause I'm a girl, Kloppman thinks I can cook you all dinner." She chuckled half-heartedly. "Hope you like boiled water."

"Ain't we lucky."

"You wanna starve, jacka-"

"Sunny, don't swear."

Spot's voice reached them a second before he entered the room. He leaned against the doorframe, resting a hand on the hilt of his cane.

"You swear."

"Yeah, I'm a guy. We can."

"You're sexist."

Spot scoffed. "She drivin' you crazy yet, Race? Give it an hour and you'll be ready to kill her."

"Won't matter anyway," Sunny said. "You're stuck with me until Spot let's me go." She faced her cousin with a mocking smile. "Ain't that right?"

Spot gave her a glare. "Don't make me regret bringin' you down here."

"Why ain't you out sellin'?"

Spot shrugged. "Finished," he answered, removing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a match and placing one between his teeth. "I'm waitin' for the evenin' one." He struck the match against the wall and expertly lit the cigarette, then put the match out.

"Don't do that in here."

"Why not?"

"'Cause you're gonna make them worse," she said, gesturing to the bunks. "And it's disgusting."

"Your boys don't smoke?" Race asked, disbelieving.

"No _._ "

"They drink?"

" _No._ "

"Man, they must love you."

Spot snickered, and Sunny gave him a look that could've killed. From the bed, Race gave her a smile.

Suddenly, from downstairs, a furious pounding sounded at the front door. It paused for a moment, then began again. The three looked at each other oddly.

"Da hell?" Spot muttered, removing his cigarette and squashing it on the floor beneath his shoe. He looked to Sunny. "You lock the door?" he asked, hoping it was just one of Jack's newsies accidentally getting locked out.

His cousin shook her head, and after a moment, made to leave the room.

Spot held out a hand to stop her. "No," he said in a tone that said his word was law. "I'll go. Stay here." He exited the room with a determined pace, and began heading down the stairs towards the front.

Sunny hurried across the room to the window, peering through the smudged glass. The window was situated at the front of the building, and though it was dirty from years worth of grime, it gave a clear view down to the front stoop.

Sunny froze. "Spot, _no_!" she called urgently, dashing from the window and tearing out of the room.

Racetrack looked across the room at Boots, who had just woken.

"Da heck's goin' on?" he asked hoarsely.

Racetrack shrugged. "Beats me."

Outside the room, Sunny hurried down the stairs and grabbed Spot's shirt, jerking him backwards.

"What the-"

"Don't open the door!"

"Why?"

" _It's him_!" Those words were spoken in a panicked whisper, and for a moment, Spot didn't know what she meant.

"Wh..." His eyes drifted to the door, taking in the harsh pounding, and when he looked back at his cousin, his blue eyes were like _ice_. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched, and suddenly Sunny glimpsed back to that night; the night when her cousin had earned his reputation as a person that didn't take other people's crap...the night her cousin _became_ Spot Conlon...the night his name took on a different meaning.

Back in the present, Spot turned back to the door. "Oh, hell, no!" He yanked his cane from his belt loop and sprung up from the step, ready to fling open the door and finish what he'd started nearly four years earlier.

But Sunny forcefully grabbed him again, trying in vain to drag him back onto the step.

"Spot!" she hissed as they struggled, all the while trying to be as quiet as possible. "Sp-God, stop it!" She eventually managed to get both of them on the ground, one hand holding an arm down and the other with the cane, because while Sunny wasn't an exceptionally strong person, she was probably the only person in New York that was guaranteed immunity from a cane strike to the face.

Spot struggled against her, but she had him down in a way that he couldn't get away without possibly hurting her. He went for his slingshot though, but Sunny stopped him.

"You open that door, he's gonna know we're here," she whispered. "And then we're done for!"

"Then I'll kill him!"

"You can't kill him! You'll go to prison, or it won't work, and he'll kill you! Just let him go!"

Spot yanked free of her grasp, grabbing back his cane. "He has to know we're here already! Why else'd he be lookin' in 'Hatten?!"

"But if we don't answer, he won't know for sure! Look...he'll go away! Just don't do anything, okay?"

Spot glared at the door, his cane clenched in his hand. For a moment, Sunny thought he actually might charge through the door right then and there, either to his doom or his death. But Spot couldn't go against her pleading gaze, and he stuck the cane back in his belt loop.

The two remained at the door until long after Shane Conlon had left. They didn't know how long; it felt as if it were only a few minutes, but it was the stroke of the old, nearly useless grandfather clock in the corner of the living room that brought them back to the present.

Five o'clock.

Spot took a deep breath and grabbed his cap from the hook by the door. "Gotta go. Don't wanna miss the night issue."

Sunny nodded.

"I'll bring you back somethin'."

Sunny shook her head. "Spot, you don't gotta." Her cousin barely had enough money to buy himself food every _other_ day, no matter how much he tried to hide that fact from her.

"Yes, I do."

As he turned and opened the door, Sunny clicked her tongue, and flicked a nickel in his direction. He jerked his head; the new Spot Conlon's version of "thanks."

The door closed behind him.

Sunny watched him head off in the direction of the distribution centre through the window, and she remained there until he disappeared into the crowd. If her uncle was somewhere out there, and so was Spot, _alone,_ then they had bigger problems than the influenza upstairs.

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 **Alrighty! That's it for this chapter, but a new one should hopefully be coming soon! I hope you guys liked it! Please review!**

 **-downtonabbey15**


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